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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26340355">all i need’s a whisper (in a world that only shouts)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/oopsabird/pseuds/oopsabird'>oopsabird</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DC Extended Universe, Wonder Woman (Movies - Jenkins), Wonder Woman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forehead Touching, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmare Comfort, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Post-Wonder Woman (2017), Pre-Slash, Sami is Trying His Best, Tenderness, Touch-Starved, sober Charlie, that’s right it’s the good kush</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:21:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,503</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26340355</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/oopsabird/pseuds/oopsabird</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been a while, since he woke up from one of these things sober.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Charlie &amp; Sameer (Wonder Woman), Charlie/Sameer (Wonder Woman)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>all i need’s a whisper (in a world that only shouts)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>if I keep producing and finishing entirely new works in the course of a week instead of finishing my 8000 WIP’s I’m probably going to drive myself crazy, but c’est la vie! here is another. this one tries to explore a bit why I think Charlie would react differently to being comforted post-nightmare after the war, when he’s sober, versus what we see in the film.</p><p><strong>please note the tag warning that this deals in the past-tense with Charlie’s alcohol issues/drinking problem</strong> — he’s sober here, but it and the emotional side-effects of it are discussed pretty prominently in this fic, so if that’s no good for you I’d consider sitting this one out</p><p>title is from <a href="https://youtu.be/e9ZlADL1TqM">Whispers</a> by Passenger which is like. such a good song, and <em>very</em> on-mood for this fic. should definitely listen</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p2">Out of a nightmare of fire and death Charlie jerks violently upright into wakefulness- and nearly smacks his forehead into someone else’s face.</p><p class="p2">“<em>Jesus!</em>” he gasps, flinching back violently enough that his spine hits a wall.</p><p class="p2">“Goodness gracious!” exclaims a startled Sameer, whose very close face he had nearly smacked into.</p><p class="p2">“Wh- wh-” he scrambles and squirms, looking around frantically, blanket tangled around his legs. Unable to get any bearings of time or place in the darkness, or any air into his lungs. “Sh- sho-”</p><p class="p2">“I-It’s just me-” Hands, Sami’s hands are gripping tight at both his shoulders, perhaps a little too tight but certainly steady, holding his twitching body still. Sameer’s eyes are wide, his hair disheveled by sleep, dressed in an undershirt — he seems shaken, rattled, maybe scared. Are they in danger? “Calm down- just breathe, <em>breathe-</em>”</p><p class="p2">“Sh-<em>shooting</em>.” Charlie manages to grit out through his teeth, grasping the front of Sami’s shirt in both hands to hurriedly yank him closer and emphasize the urgency of what he’s trying to say. There might be only minutes to act. “Are. They. Sh-shooting. At. Us.”</p><p class="p2">“Wh- No!” Sami shakes his head, bewildered and apparently disoriented by the question. “Just- just try to take a deep breath, it is alright-”</p><p class="p2">“F-fuck-” Charlie shudders, shakes his head vigorously, but it doesn’t feel any clearer. The world is still spinning too much, and he grips tighter to the front of Sami’s shirt, an anchoring point. He can’t breathe, god he still can’t breathe- they could be in danger and he still can’t breathe- “<em>F-fuck!</em>”</p><p class="p2">“I’m sorry-” Sami is babbling, almost nervous, trying to reassure, gripping him tight. “I am sorry- I did not want to barge in, but- you were screaming, and I was worried the neighbours might-”</p><p class="p2">Wait. Frozen, Charlie blinks at him and gapes in noncomprehension, feeling the world tilt around them. Neighbours. Neighbours? “Wh- where-”</p><p class="p2">“London, we are in London. It is the twelfth of November, 1918.” Now Sami’s hands rub firmly up and down his upper arms, grounding, as the man himself seems to finally start catching his breath and calm from having been startled. “War is over, it ended yesterday. Listen, just try to breathe, <em>mon ami</em>. Breathe in deeply, let it out slow... There is no danger here, you are safe. <em>Breathe</em>...”</p><p class="p2">Oh. Oh, the war... war is over. They’re not in the field, just the flat. Right. Right. Charlie tries to follow the instructions, squeezes his eyes shut tight and focuses on trying to make himself suck in deep gulps of air and let them out slowly. After a few rounds of this the dizzy spinning feeling slows down and he begins to feel a little solid again — a little more settled into his body, even though his hands still shake.</p><p class="p2">November twelfth.</p><p class="p2">The war is over.</p><p class="p2">Steve is dead.</p><p class="p2">The war is over.</p><p class="p2">They are alive.</p><p class="p2">
  <em>Breathe...</em>
</p><p class="p2">When he feels somewhat stable enough to open his eyes, Sameer is of course still there. There is something soft and worried in his gaze, in his watching. In the touch of his two steady hands.</p><p class="p2">This is the moment, Charlie thinks with a strange sort of distance, where the anger usually comes. Shame and self-loathing and the resentment of pity, boiling up acidic and hot in his chest and bringing sharp bitterness to his tongue. The feeling that makes him bolt and run. The feeling the alcohol brings.</p><p class="p2">Silence stretches out, broken only by breathing. An uneasy edge is creeping into Sami’s expression the longer it goes on, a look that says he too remembers the fierce, snappish drunken anger, even if it was only ever rarely directed his way. A second later he releases Charlie’s shoulders and lets his own hands fall to his sides, as if preparing for the backlash that past experience has said will always come next.</p><p class="p2">But there is no drink now. Has not been for several days.</p><p class="p2">In the spot where the anger usually comes, Charlie feels only a cold, fragile hollowness, a great gaping ache behind his ribs. It’s the sort of chasm which in years past could have been filled up with the burn of a fresh swill of whisky, but of course that’s not an option. There is no alcohol in the apartment, not any more. He made sure of that when they returned.</p><p class="p2">No, there is only Sameer, kneeling on his bed. Staring at him in the darkness, emptyhanded and braced for a rejection. Looking almost as lost and alone and helpless as Charlie feels.</p><p class="p2">Charlie hates to be pitied, more than almost anything else.</p><p class="p2">But there is no pity in those kind brown eyes.</p><p class="p2">“Sameer...” he croaks, grasping blindly for fresh purchase in the fabric of Sami’s shirt, lost for words and choking on his tongue but still trying to ensure the other doesn’t move away. With his eyes instead he silently begs for understanding, for Sami to somehow know everything he has never learned the words to say. To hear the pleas he cannot voice. To see him. “<em>Sami</em>-”</p><p class="p2">In miraculous understanding Sami’s handsome face softens, all of that anxious fear washing away. “I am here, Charlie.” One of his hands comes up to grip warm and steady across the back of Charlie’s neck, a grounding point as Sami gazes back at him with astonishing earnest honesty. “I am right here. Always. Right here.”</p><p class="p2">Something in that touch makes a knot of tension come undone in his heart, and all he can do is let himself sag forward to rest his forehead against Sameer’s own — leaning into all these warm steady solid points of contact that feel so much more real than the rest of the world, than even his own body. His hands, still twisted in the fabric of Sami’s shirt, are shaking like crazy. But somehow, the man makes no complaints.</p><p class="p2">“You are safe now, I promise,” Sami says instead, a rough-edged reassuring whisper as his thumb rubs circles on the nape of Charlie’s neck. God, he is so very good at sounding convincing in his conviction — one could very nearly believe the words are actually true. “The war is over, we are in London now. We are safe, Charlie, just keep breathing... I promise you, we are safe.”</p><p class="p2">Safe... perhaps that’s what this feeling is, the steady solidity of Sami’s contact, the soothing of his words — the way he makes up the whole world right now, the limit of everything Charlie can see and feel and perceive. There is nothing left of that old urge to lash out defensively, to run away and shield his dignity. He is raw and unhidden, in all of his mess.</p><p class="p2">Sameer knows the worst of him and is still here. Sameer takes care of him. Sameer is kind, and patient, and never ever cruel.</p><p class="p2">Yes, he can see it now, without the drunken anger to cloud his way.</p><p class="p2">With Sami, he feels safe.</p><p class="p2">Exhausted half to death in the middle of the night is not a great time for inhibitions, and this sense of safety is so much more addictive than anything the bottle ever gave. And so when the last of the tension unravels from his spine, there is very little cause for pause in Charlie’s head, before he simply pushes himself forward to sink completely into the depth of Sami’s open arms, face becoming buried against his companion’s shoulder. He is impossibly tired, four god damn years tired, and feels greedy for every comfort he has always told himself he is not allowed.</p><p class="p2">“Oh-” There is a brief soft sound of surprise, and for half a second Sami stiffens and Charlie’s heart clenches in fear. Perhaps he has found the limits. Perhaps he has pushed too far.</p><p class="p2">“Sorry-”</p><p class="p2">“No, please, it’s okay...” Sameer relaxes, strong arms coming to wrap around him fully and press their bodies close together with a relieved sort of sigh, cradling his head to that soft shoulder with utmost care. Now, very faintly, Sami’s hands are trembling. “I-it is okay. I am here, <em>matraba</em>, we are safe...”</p><p class="p2">The half-tearful waver of the words shouldn’t really reinforce their message of stability, whispered as they are by gentle lips against Charlie’s messy hair. But somehow he still puts faith in it. He trusts him. Loves him. He would follow Sami’s words to the ends of the earth and never ask him for anything. Would follow him into death and beyond.</p><p class="p2">If Sameer asks him to breathe, he will try to. If Sameer says it is okay, then perhaps it will be. When this miraculous man speaks the impossible, even a cynic like him wants to believe.</p><p class="p2">“Thank you,” Charlie croaks, still clinging on tightly, meaning this and meaning four years of everything in those two very simple words. He isn’t sure what this embrace means to Sami, but he never wants to let go.</p><p class="p2">“<em>Toujours</em>,” Sami murmurs hoarsely — <em>always</em> — and softly kisses the top of his head, and keeps on holding him until the dawn.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>[John Mulaney voice] “hey, that’s the same <strike>joke</strike> fic premise <strike>twice</strike> four times!” (and I’m still not tired of it! :D)</p><p><em>translation note:</em> matraba (مطربة) is an Arabic word meaning "songbird" or "one who sings", which I've headcanoned Sami uses as a fond nickname for Charlie throughout their friendship (Charlie, at least at this point, has no idea what it means — Sami always lies and says it’s something like “fool” or “silly hair” or “very stubborn person” when he asks)</p><p>I hope you’re all doing okay out there! I have some fics I want to try and push to completion prior to the WW84 premiere, so cross your fingers for that!</p><p>In the meantime, your kudos and lovely comments are always appreciated as bright spots of my day, and I am also <a href="https://oopsabird.tumblr.com/post/626759319673782272/hey-you-wonderful-wonder-woman-fans">@oopsabird</a> on tumblr if you wish to come and chat! thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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